


Notorious -SuperLock Fanfiction-

by SuperlockianHobbit



Category: Sherlock (TV), Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Demonic Possession, Gen, Hurt Sam Winchester, London, Protective Dean Winchester, SPN - Freeform, Scarred John, Supernatural - Freeform, superlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:43:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1875213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuperlockianHobbit/pseuds/SuperlockianHobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robert Singer journeys to London upon being contacted by his old partner, who he long presumed dead. Only two days later, Dean Winchester receives a distress call from Bobby which is abruptly disconnected. In an effort to locate Bobby, Sam and Dean travel to London and in an unforeseen turn of events become acquainted with John Watson and Sherlock Holmes, two men who are investigating the mysterious disappearances of several men and women in the city.<br/>The foursome find themselves collaborating on the investigation and soon find that something notorious has manifested itself in London's streets and is targeting all of the hunters in the city.</p><p>***ALL CHARACTERS OTHER THAN MY OWN BELONG TO THE CW AND BBC***</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while, hasn't it? To start off, I wanted to apologize for being inactive and not updating for so long, a LOT of things happened in the past year and there were a lot of changes around in my personal life. On top of that I got a severe case of writer's block that lasted months.  
> Anyways, as you may have noticed the story seems somewhat if not entirely different - I decided to make some adjustments to the plot and start fresh, since I feel that my new approach would make so much more sense and would be better.  
> If any of you have suggestions or any comments, criticism, etc., feel free to post them here or send me a message. I really want to hear some feedback from you guys on behalf of the story and what you guys like and dislike about it, since it helps me refine my writing abilities and understand what might improve the story.  
> Lastly, I wanted to thank you all for the reads and kudos! I really appreciate that you took time out of your schedules to read my work(s), and am grateful for having such devoted readers such as yourselves. I hope you'll enjoy what I'm going to do with this story. :)

"Where are you heading, miss?" the driver inquired.

"Two-two-one-b Baker Street. And just call me Martha, dear," Mrs. Hudson chimed as she climbed into the cab. The vehicle departed from Heathrow Airport and retreated onto the main road, which was cramped with morning traffic. After several minutes passed without any movement, the driver glanced at Mrs. Hudson in the rear-view mirror. It was then that he noticed what appeared to be a petite clay box nestled in the woman's lap, her thin fingers wrapped tightly around it.

The box had several chips and cracks lining its surface, indicating old age and wear. It was beige, and its lid appeared to have fused with the remainder of the relic. Among the many small fissures embellishing the object were several markings covering the entirety of its surface.

"What's that you got there?" the man found himself asking.

" _Well_ ," Mrs. Hudson began without hesitation. "It was my last day in Alexandria and I decided to head down to the local merchant market in Cairo—wanted to find myself a nice souvenir, y'know? Anyways, I came across this cart packed with ceramics and antiques; the fellow managing it almost immediately handpicked this box for me and persisted that I purchase it. It was supposedly worth a pretty penny, but he offered it to me for a mere 20 pounds. Sounded like a good deal."

The driver glanced again at the worn, seemingly useless box. "What's so intriguing about this box?"

"According to the merchant, it's allegedly an artifact from the tomb of Ptahmose, the High Priest of Amun during the reign of Amenhotep III and Akhenaton. If that were true, that makes the box more than three thousand years old. It should be in a museum. But of course, I gave him the benefit of the doubt and bought it," she replied. 

The driver raised his eyebrows amusingly. "Is there anything inside?" 

"The merchant told me, but it's absolutely ridiculous—what was it he said again? Ah, yes: 'Inside is the highest of His species...the third of seven...He beckons release', or something along those lines—"

"Wait— _he?_ " the driver interjected. "There's someone in that box?" Martha chuckled at the question.

"Well, not some _one_ , but some _thing_ ; a demon, apparently," she remarked nonchalantly. "A demon supposedly exorcised from Amenhotep himself. Aka Manah is its name, I believe." At this, she began to laugh hysterically. "Can you believe that? That's one of the funniest things I've ever heard." 

The driver laughed along nervously, eyeing his passenger warily. The man himself wasn't very religious, but having been baptized and brought up as a Christian, he had been exposed to the topic of demonology and wasn't one to treat it as a joke.

"Ah, oh well, even if this trinket isn't worth anything, it'll be a nice addition to my flat," Mrs. Hudson sighed, raising the fragile clay box so as to get a better look at the faded inscriptions. "These markings on their own are somewhat fascinating—"

Without warning, a car beside the cab accelerated and dangerously merged into the same lane despite there being an obvious lack of space.

"Bloody _hell_ ," the driver cursed and floored the brake, the momentum thrusting him into the steering wheel painfully as the cab came to an abrupt halt. He heard his passenger shriek and a very audible crack sounded mere moments afterwards. The man sighed heavily in exasperation and quickly pushed back against his seat before continuing forward in the bustling traffic. 

"I'm so sorry...are you alright, Martha?" the driver breathed as he recollected himself.

A good minute passed without a response, and in that time the driver felt the temperature of the cab drop several degrees. The man frowned, glancing at the air conditioner settings only to see that the system wasn't even on. He began to grow tense, for some reason reluctant to glance in the rear-view mirror. Almost immediately, his thoughts centered around the crack he had heard.

The sudden stench of must and rotten eggs met his nostrils, and the man inaudibly gasped.

" _Martha?_ " he asked again.

"I feel...amazing, Sebastian. You have _no_ idea," the woman cooed, her sing-song voice suddenly sharp and cold.

Sebastian quickly looked into the rear-view mirror, his eyes wide. His heart skipped several beats and a shiver raked up and down his spine violently. "...I never told you my name."

Mrs. Hudson didn't respond, and the man didn't dare utter another word; he couldn't do anything except drive and pray for the first time in years.

"Oh, He can't help you now," the woman taunted, a menacing edge in her voice. Sebastian looked at Mrs. Hudson, all of the color draining from his face.

The woman's eyes were completely obsidian except for the pupil, which was a burning crimson red. She was grinning madly, and the man felt his vision cloud with tears. "Martha" slowly leaned forward, nearing his shoulder. The driver tensed up, only to see the passenger's palm extend into his peripheral vision, on which he saw several differently-sized ceramic pieces—the remnants of the clay box. Mrs. Hudson leaned in even closer, until her lips were only inches away from Sebastian's ear.

"I'm free," she hissed.

The loud blare of a horn snapped the cab driver back to reality, and he swiveled his head to the right rapidly. Sebastian focused on the road, only to realize that he had ran a red light. The man's stomach dropped, and he quickly peeled his foot off the gas pedal in a panic, veering into the intersection and directly into the path of an oncoming semi-truck.

"Oh God," he cried. The deafening shriek of the semi's brakes filled his eardrums, and he could do nothing but watch the vehicular behemoth draw closer with every passing second. The truck's front bumper slammed into the driver's side of the car, and Sebastian's screams were silenced instantaneously.


	2. Chapter 2

Victor Abbington tapped his foot uneasily as he read the directory mounted above the hospital corridors. He was the only patient in the vacant sitting area, and this, combined with the growing anticipation of being summoned by a doctor, made him resort to anything as a distraction.

The man finally spotted 'Restrooms' among the list of several other services and rooms, and he quickly adjusted his black leather jacket and flattened his worn jeans prior to making his way out of the lobby.

He entered the corridor and immediately spotted a pair of nurses rounding the corner at the end of the hallway. They were hurriedly wheeling two stretchers forward, each burdening an unconscious person.

The face of the young man on the first stretcher was battered and bloody; enormous bleeding gashes scattered across his flesh, more heavily concentrated on the right side of his body. His right arm and legs were bent at grotesque angles, the majority of his clothes soaked in crimson.

The second stretcher bore a woman in her early-to-mid-sixties, whose head sagged to the side, giving Victor a better visual of the small series of abrasions and scratches lining her face and other visible patches of skin. Her blouse and dress pants were spattered in blood and torn, but overall she was in decent condition when compared to the former patient.

Victor quickly moved out of the way, his eyes transfixed on the two patients as they were wheeled past him. His eyes lingered on the woman for just a second longer, and without warning her eyes flickered open. His heart jumped at the too-familiar sight of ebony eyes; chills raked up and down the man's spine and he hurriedly looked at the nurse, however she didn't seem to notice anything.

As the medical personnel entered the main lobby, Victor caught sight of the woman's mouth slowly inching open, out of which a faint trail of obsidian smoke began to ooze out subtly. It sank to the floor and out of the nurses' sights. The nurses turned and disappeared down another corridor, not giving any indication that they had noticed the dark mass at their feet.

The breath hitched in Victor's throat, and he could do nothing but gape in horror as the onyx substance started to speedily condense and conform into a vaguely human figure.

The atmosphere in the lobby immediately grew thick with electricity, and a strong stench of decay and rotten eggs breached Victor's nostrils. Pure terror overwhelmed him, and he instinctively began bolting down the passage until he reached a large door labelled 'Men's Restroom'.

Victor hastily urged the door open with his numb hands, ran inside, and pressed his back against the door. The man began fumbling in the darkness for a light switch, his hands trembling as they swept across the smooth bathroom wall.

" _Damn it._ " The man scowled, growing progressively more frantic in his search. His palm suddenly brushed against a slick and cool surface: a mirror. Shifting both of his hands to the right, Victor felt his fingers continue to slide along the glass.

The temperature abruptly dropped several degrees, and only seconds later, light engulfed the entirety of the room. Victor winced, his eyes straining to adjust. After the bright spots cleared from his vision, the man found that he was indeed touching a mirror. At this realization, an overwhelming feeling of apprehension settled in his gut— _he hadn't turned the light on._

The man slowly withdrew his wavering fingers from the glass, and looked at his reflection.

 _It_ was right behind him.

Victor whirled around and staggered away from the figure, past the rows of sinks and paper towel dispensers until he was pressed up against the wall nearest to the door.

"Stay away from me," he threatened, reaching his right hand into his back pocket for the small flask of holy water he constantly carried despite having retired from hunting ten years ago. Although he'd been told several times before, he only now understood that a hunter could never call it quits.

" _Victor._..," the demon purred, its horrendously raspy voice echoing around the room. Victor grabbed a hold of the flask and withdrew it, waving it at the demon in warning. To the man's dread, what sounded like the cackle of a persistent smoker began emanating from the figure as it taunted his efforts.

"GET THE _FUCK_ AWAY, I SAID!" he shouted, and without a moment's hesitation unscrewed the flask and began vigorously jerking the bottle's contents in the direction of the demon.

"That won't do you any good," it jeered, the intensity of its menace wavering only ever so slightly when it came in contact with the holy water. An excruciatingly sharp pain suddenly broke out in Victor's right hand and the man screamed in agony. He released his only means of protection, and it clattered onto the bathroom tiles, the remnants of the holy water splattering out.

Adrenaline surged through the man's veins, and he motioned to lunge towards the door. However, he couldn't move; it was as if he had been pinned to the wall. The pain from Victor's hand began to travel up his arm, and gradually spread throughout his body until the man felt as if he was being pulled apart, limb by limb. In the time that Victor felt himself losing unconsciousness, he saw the demon creeping nearer, closing the remaining distance between them.

"This world is corrupt, _condemned_ ," the creature seethed, the reek of decaying flesh and sulfur amplifying in intensity. "And I, Aka Manah, am going to claim it as my dominion.

"Hunters are the only obstacles preventing our complete domination over the human race. They have been around for centuries, and it is because of them that my brothers and I had been isolated for several millennia.

My species is intelligent and extremely adaptable, much like your kind. But as different as past and present humans may be, a critical weakness of theirs which continues to prevail time is their necessity for connection; they are all interwoven like a complex network, and with precision and time, you can breach its entire infrastructure and eliminate every single one of its components. As a retired hunter, it would have been wise of you to sever your ties with your 'colleagues'. At least then you could have died knowing you weren't the sole cause of their demise."

At this, Aka began to contort and compress himself into a thick, black mass once again, and before Victor could have screamed, the entity breached his mouth and forced itself down his esophagus. The demon easily overcame the man's frail attempts at resistance, and fastened itself to every single thought and memory that made Victor Abbington who he was.

The demon scoured through the contents of its new meat suit's mind, absorbing any and all information that would aid in identifying hunters with whom the man had maintained connections. After retaining what he could have, Aka pulled out his vessel's phone from the man's sweater pocket and searched through the lengthy contact list.

The process of calling all of the hunters in London that Victor knew and luring as many as possible to the hospital took a mere half hour. However, after skimming through the list one last time, a single uncalled contact remained; the hunter's memory of the person affiliated with the number kept coming up short.

"Robert Singer," Aka read. Upon reading the name, something stirred in the vessel's mind—the microscopic portion still controlled by Victor. Aka immediately advanced upon him, immediately aware that the pitiful human was trying to hide something. It wasn't long before the demon claimed the remainder of the vessel's mind. A rush of information came through to the entity, and he grinned maliciously as he found out more about Victor's old hunting partner, 'Bobby', and the man's affiliation with two unnamed infamous American hunters.

The demon decided to dial the number; after all, the more hunters that came to the hospital, the better.

Three rings later, somebody picked up.  


End file.
